Page 61 of The Sexy Ex's Brother
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Later, we sit on the edge of the mezzanine platform with our legs dangling over the side, a thermos of coffee between us that Jack pulled from the car. It’s lukewarm, but neither of us cares.
“Do you think people will believe in it?” I ask.
“In us?”
“In what we’re trying to do.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he brushes his thumb over my knuckles. “They will if we believe in it first.”
I let the silence stretch, the weight of everything we’re about to start pressing gently into my ribs, not crushing, but grounding.
“We’ve both spent so much time trying to fix broken systems,” I say. “What if we stopped trying to fix them and started building new ones instead?”
Jack’s voice is low. “That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say.”
I glance sideways at him, feeling the way his shoulder brushes mine. “You were sure I’d say yes to all of this?”
“I was hopeful. You’re not the easiest person to predict.”
“Neither are you.”
His mouth quirks. “Guess we’re even.”
When we finally head back down, Jack stops in the center of the room. “We’ll need permits. Contractors. Probably a structural engineer.”
I laugh. “And branding. And lighting. And, God, don’t let me near a color wheel unless you want an all-neutral nightmare.”
He grins. “I like your nightmares.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You just like watching me flustered with paint swatches.”
“True,” he says, inching closer. “But I also like the way you look when you’re focused. Mouth slightly parted. That little furrow between your brows.”
I arch a brow. “That furrow means I’m about to throw something at you.”
“I live dangerously.”
“Clearly.”
He steps closer again, tugging me into his arms. “I like you. I love you. I want to build a life with you, and this is where we start.”
Outside, the sky has softened into dusk. The windows tint everything gold. The space looks warmer now, more alive. Before we leave, I pull out my phone and snap a photo.
“What’s that for?” he asks.
“For us. So we remember what it looked like before we filled it with everything we are.”
Jack leans in, kissing my temple. “Someday, we’ll hang that photo on the wall. First page of the story.”
I nod, my chest tight with something close to peace. “The story we wrote ourselves.”
He doesn’t say anything right away. Just slides his fingers between mine and looks back at the building like it’s already filled with art and voices and purpose. I follow his gaze. The soft glow of the windows reflects our silhouettes in the glass, two people stitched back together by choice. Just the stubborn belief that we could be more than what we were handed.
“Can I tell you something?” I say, the words barely louder than the hum of traffic.
Jack nods. “Always.”
